Feel this pain no more
by whoami10
Summary: AVENGERS INFINITY WAR SPOILERS! But tonight, Thor's mind is blank. Empty. No more running away from confronting the undeniable fact that, for the first time, he is utterly and completely alone. He doesn't know what to do. "Loki" he says, the edge of a tremor in his voice. "Are you there? Are you listening?"


He can't sleep.

It's not really a new sensation: he couldn't sleep when he was having visions of his home burning every single time he closed his eyes, and still before then, when he saw his brother slipping away from him, over and over again, into an endless night, only to come back to him in a cruel mockery of who he once was… and then, disappear once more.

Thor Odinson hasn't slept well in a long, long time.

But this particular time, he can't even fathom to try and close his eyes, knows that his mind will betray him and force him to relive what happened on that thrice-damned ship before he was left for dead, drifting into the abyss.

It shouldn't feel worse than the other times, but it somehow is: his shoulders feel just a little too slumped, burdened with the weight of his biggest defeat, during the fight that mattered the most. He couldn't save his home, his people or his friends and he couldn't avenge them, either.

And now, he's stuck in a room that feels overwhelming even if it has all the space he needs – there's too much space, it's all so empty – in a compound where all things scream of Stark while his owner is still MIA. They're not even sure if he's dead or alive. He should be glad that Rhodes even let them stay here but he doesn't manage to feel anything but tired, drained, exhausted beyond any possible measure.

Thor sighs very softly, still watching the stars from the giant glass window that covers most of the wall of the room. He can't call it his room. It doesn't feel his, it's a borrowed space for a borrowed time that feels peaceful but isn't, not really, not with Thanos still out there, alive and breathing, successful.

 _I put everything in that last shot, and I missed. I failed._

Tomorrow, they're supposed to regroup, plan their next moves, find a way to save friends turned into dust right before their own eyes by a force that was never wielded by another before. That should be his priority.

Tonight, though, that seems really too far away because Thor has worked on sheer adrenaline up until now, going so fast from one goal to another in a frenzy that just didn't let him focus too hard on what happened on the ship.

But tonight, Thor's mind is blank. Empty. No more running away from confronting the undeniable fact that, for the first time, he is utterly and completely alone.

Sure, there's still half of his people left, Norns knows where, with Valkyrie as their defender and he knows he should find strength for them; after all, he is their king. But he has no one left to guide and help him figure out what that actually means, what are his responsibilities beyond the sterile lessons that he was taught since he was a child. He didn't even listen to half of them, due to his old arrogance and the foolish certainty to always have a trusted advisor by his side.

Would it even be a good idea to try to lead, after what happened? Did his people really need to be guided by someone who just stood by, unable to protect them while half of them were being slaughtered mercilessly? What kind of king allowed something like that to happen?

He doesn't know what to do.

So, like when he was a child too scared to deal with nightmares on his own but too prideful to go seeking his parents' soothing voices – and he would now, just for the chance to see and touch them one more time – he calls in the darkness for the only person who could bring him a modicum of comfort. Whispers his name like a prayer, would beg on his knees for an answer that he's not sure he's going to get.

"Loki" he says, the edge of a tremor in his voice. "Are you there? Are you listening?"

He know it's a long shot, that he's probably just deluding himself but there's this stubborn, little sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, despite what Thanos has said… Maybe Loki had a plan. Maybe he escaped. Maybe he's alive, hiding in the shadows and waiting, carefully choosing the perfect moment to come back. Maybe the sickening crunch of his brother's neck being snapped like a twig under the Titan's hand was just another illusion.

He has to stop for a second and take two large breaths when that particular moment crushes his heart all over again. "Please," he murmurs, his eyes already wet. "Please, brother, if you hear me… I need you."

If Loki's really out there, Thor is sure he'll be listening. He's less sure whether he would answer, but he has to try at least once. Because he's drifting away, crushed under the guilt of all he should have done and couldn't, all he has lost in a short couple of weeks; all that he keeps losing every single day, every single second since his first banishment to Midgard…

"What do I do?" he says in the absolute silence of the room, every moment without an answering voice making him a little bit more hopeless. "How do I keep fighting?"

And there's anger, sudden and utterly familiar, even as the first tears run down his cheeks, splashing on the sheets of the bed he's sitting on. He embraces it, welcoming the rage that has accompanied him already two times before. He knows perfectly well the feeling of mourning his brother's death.

He can hear the rumble of thunder out of the window, can see the stars he was perusing – imagining bodies floating in space, wondering if his brother's is really out there with the rest – being covered by ugly, angry, black clouds and he knows that soon, an impressive storm will begin, not letting up for at least the rest of the night.

The first time, Asgard had to deal with cloudy weather and the occasional thunderstorm for three whole weeks before its prince felt he had worked through his pain enough to let it up. The second time, on Midgard, it took a week and a half, his pain as bright and destructive as the first time but easier to burn out.

This time, he can't imagine how long it will take him to ease his pain enough to reign in his powers. Right now, it doesn't feel like he ever could.

In another room of the compound, Steve Rogers hears the rumble of the oncoming storm with the taste of alcohol on his tongue and the ghost of his best friend's last call in his brain, clutching a scratched burner phone in one hand. He kind of likes, in a bitter way, that the weather matches how he feels on the inside.

He doesn't know that, but everyone else in the building feels the same way: a sort of painful relief to have some noise that can fill the emptiness all around them, that can muffle the angry roars and screams for the unfairness of the situation, that doesn't let them hear the whimpers and groans of pain that is all they can manage after their throats feel too raw to keep going.

"What do I fight for, Loki?!" Thor roars, under the safety of the storm. "Tell me! What is there to fight for, now?" His voice breaks at about half sentence, like he would love to break everything around him and release some of his tension, but he can't do that because there's already been so much destruction and when does it stop? When will he be able to just rest, without feeling like his chest is being torn apart from the inside, like every shard of his broken heart is trying to get free, to leave him finally empty, once and for all?

"You were supposed to come back!" he keeps screaming, feeling the burning in his throat, the itchiness of his eyes, hyperaware of his drenched face, snot and tears mixing and making him an absolute mess. He wished he could care about that, about anything at all. "You promised!"

And then there's sobs; big, ugly, wet sobs that wreck him and make him shake, a trembling that starts from his aching chest and arrives to his calves, like a shock of electricity from the obedience disk on Sakaar except more painful, because he can't pass out with the same relative ease, he has to ride it out until his body can't take it anymore and he passes out from sheer exhaustion, shuts down in a dreamless sleep that never feels restful at all.

It takes minutes, maybe an hour or maybe even more. But eventually he has no tears left to shed, his eyes too swollen to even let him see at all, his muscles aching from being tense for so long and his throat scratchy, incapable of making anymore sounds, beyond even whimpers.

He's long since curled up on the sheets, his head heavy like it's full of cotton. He feels himself slip into sweet unconsciousness and, at the very last second before the darkness claims him, he swears he feels a sudden sense of peace and warmth passing through him and a voice he's known for his whole life whispers: "Sleep now".

Thor does.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He awakes early, the room bathed in grey light. The sun hasn't risen yet.

He feels surprisingly well for the breakdown he's had last night: his face and eyes are not tender and there's no discomfort when he swallows. He slept through the night without a single nightmare. His body doesn't ache at all, not even from the battle.

Thor frowns at the thought, confused. His mind is still too groggy to elaborate and it takes him a full minute to realize that there's an added weight on the bed next to him.

When he rolls his head in that direction, he expects to see one of his teammates, maybe the Captain. What he sees, instead, are cerulean eyes and a little smirk that makes his breath catch in his throat. He stays perfectly still, almost afraid that he'll see him disappear again if he so much as moves a muscle.

It's too good to be true, but when his brother opens his mouth and tells him: "You know how much I love a good dramatic entrance", Thor knows he's really there, in front of him, warm, solid and _alive._

He feels like weeping all over again and he also wants to beat him to a bloody pulp, opens his mouth to say so but what comes out is: "You just couldn't stay dead, could you?"

Loki's expression becomes very serious, his gaze searching and a genuine spark of curiosity in his irises, locked with Thor's own, as he asks: "Would you have preferred it, if I did?"

There's a touch of concern in that question, so well hidden under nonchalance that, at one point in their past, Thor would have sworn it was his imagination playing tricks on him, much like his brother did. But after all they've been through, he has learned to search for these underlying bits of truth that Loki lets slip in his tone of voice, his posture, his expression just a second before he schools it.

It doesn't matter much in this particular occasion, since he already knows that his brother cares deeply – he has proven that enough since Sakaar – and in any case, there's only one possible answer to give him. It spills out of him with such vehemence that it almost seems like he's growling the word, like maybe the force behind it will hit Loki like an actual blow and make it more believable to him. As a master in spinning lies, his brother has always dealt better with a more physical approach.

"Never" Thor says, rolling on his side and reaching with one hand to grab the side of his brother's neck in what has always been _their_ gesture, only to suddenly realize he's unable to, remembering purple fingers squeezing life out of that same throat and almost seeing them overlapped with his own.

He starts to retreat, even if he longs to feel for himself the warmth of his brother's skin and his steady heartbeat, actual proofs that this isn't a dream or an elaborate delusion – but then, Loki's hand grabs his wrist and pulls, guiding his fingers in that familiar spot, apparently needing the small comfort, as well.

His brother doesn't speak, doesn't even move except for the bobbing of his throat, shifting under Thor's finger. He wonders if he is having the same thoughts: if he's feeling a phantom burning in the back of his throat; if his long, measured breaths are trying to compensate for an imagined constriction of his lungs; if the fast heartbeat that pounds against his thumb is due to nervousness or to fear of being choked to death once more.

And yet, Loki's hand is still around his wrist, keeping him there. It's not fear that he can read in his eyes, but steely determination with an underlying sliver of anxiety. _I know you're not him,_ he thinks his brother is trying to desperately communicate without any actual words. _I know you wouldn't hurt me like that. He hasn't taken_ this _away from us._

A wave of affection passes through Thor and his hand tightens slightly, enough to make Loki close his eyes on a shuddering exhale. " _Never_ , Loki" he reiterates, hoping to really drive his point across. No matter the circumstances, Thor could never wish for his brother not to return to him.

Loki opens his eyes, then, and they look straight into Thor's gaze, still fixed intently on his brother's face. That's why Thor notices the twitch at the corner of Loki's lips as he says: "Why would you wish for the worst brother ever to return to you? Surely you're better off without…"

"Don't," Thor growls, shaking his brother a little in retaliation. "Don't finish that sentence, Loki. You know it to be nonsense. I was mad and disappointed when I said that but you should know to never doubt my love, by now."

Something that could have been a flash of relief passes in Loki's eyes, before he frowns: "I never saw you mourn me, before. I admit I was… curious. I didn't really believe it when you said you did, the other times."

"Did it please you, to see me broken? Were you satisfied?"

Loki glances to his right, then his gaze drops to about the level of Thor's chin and stays there. He murmurs: "Not even slightly. As we discovered not that long ago, I don't handle your pain well, especially when I'm the cause of it."

There was a time, in their youth, when Thor was sure he had his brother completely figured out: when he started to notice how Loki wouldn't directly meet the eyes of people while saying some things, he foolishly thought that must be because he was lying and couldn't let them catch the dishonesty in his gaze.

Now, a thousand years later, he knows how utterly wrong he was. Loki could look someone straight into the eye while fabricating the most elaborate tales and never look anything other than completely sincere. Thor himself has been burned because of that particular ability more than once. Now, he knows that what his brother couldn't let people catch in his gaze was vulnerability because, if Loki avoids someone's eyes, it's because he's telling the truth.

That makes Thor smile, the smallest tension and anger still present in his heart finally disappearing. He moves his hand in a caress along his brother's neck, makes it slide on Loki's chest until it rests on his heart, then says: "In that case, I would ask you one favor, and know that I'm perfectly willing to beg for it, should that be your desire."

The words are more than enough to make Loki lift his eyes again, expression both confused and intrigued, an elegant eyebrow rising towards his hairline.

Thor looks very solemn as he says: "Don't make me go through that another time, Loki. Enough. I would sooner face a hundred Thanos and Hela together than mourn you again."

Loki flinches the slightest bit and he seems taken back by the fervor in his brother's eyes, but eventually he gives a little nod. "I'll… try."

It's not the vow Thor would have liked, but he understands. They are still at war, after all, and he has no doubt that his brother will be by his side every step of the way, this time. Because Loki has returned to him, after he had the opportunity to flee and stay hidden, maybe forever. And, if after Ragnarok Thor still wasn't completely sure about it, now he can believe it: Loki intends to stay and, hopefully, they will have a chance to rebuild, together; or, if Fate is not on their side, then they will both perish and enter Valhalla at the same time. Whatever the case, they won't be parted again.

During their conversation, they have moved towards each other, bit by bit, until they find themselves seated face to face, only the smallest distance still separating them. The sun has finally risen, bathing his room – and it never felt more _his_ than now, with Loki there on the bed with him, tangible and real – in golden light that shines in Loki's eyes, making them sparkle.

He can see mischief in them when his brother says: "Well, would you look at that… It seems the sun is shining on us again, just like I said."

It's the impish grin on his lips as he speaks, the one he remembers from his fondest memories, that finally breaks Thor. He leans forward suddenly enough to startle Loki for a second, but slowly enough that he can just stop him, if he wants. But the sheer need to taste those lips, to feel the curve of that smile pressed against his own mouth is simply too much to ignore anymore.

They were barely more than kids when they kissed for the first time, not even eight hundred years old, burning with a fierce, hormones-driven craving and the desire to experiment with someone they trusted completely and without reservations. To get better, they said to each other, to eventually please an undefined lover-to-be that never really crossed either of their minds after that.

Their last kiss was in a golden chamber, less than an hour before a coronation that never actually took place.

It's so long ago that it could be irrelevant, now, just another portion of their past that they can never get back. Except that Thor, in his heart, has never truly stopped thinking about his brother's lips and smell and the feeling of his bare skin under his hands or the delectable noises he always tried to muffle without success. He hopes Loki feels the same way.

And apparently he does because it's him that closes the distance between their mouths, not even stopping a second to worry about appearing too eager.

There are no fireworks or disappearance of all thoughts when their lips finally lock in a kiss a lot softer than he expected. There's no sudden peace, or romantic music resonating in his mind, or even the sensation of everything being right in the world. What there is, though – together with bittersweet memories of a simpler time and the lingering worry about the future – is warmth, a whole lot of warmth, along with wetness, softness and the sweet smell of his brother's skin.

It's not the magical solution to all of his troubles, but it weirdly feels like he's home again, at last.

 _Home is not a place,_ Thor suddenly thinks, licking into his brother's mouth, feeling Loki's tongue against his own and tracing his teeth with the tip of it, _but it can be a person. And Loki is mine._

They keep going for long minutes, rolling together on Thor's bed and separating only briefly between one kiss and the next to breath and remove their clothes, until they are left only in their boxers.

Loki shifts until he's sitting on Thor's lap, reaching with his hands to grab his shoulders, then trailing his nails along his back, not hard enough to break skin. Thor groans and softly bites and sucks Loki's neck, eliciting a breathy moan, while his hands caress languidly every inch of smooth, pale skin they can find.

They don't speak and they don't grow frenzied with need, they just keep relearning each other, slow and unhurried, perfectly content in this rediscovered closeness to want much more. In time, perhaps, they will rekindle that flame. For now, though, this is enough: just trying to get as close as possible and then closer, safe in the knowledge that they are whole, actually in each other's arms and together again, at last.

Thor wants to do something really sentimental, then: maybe thank the Norns for keeping his brother safe or maybe break down again with the surge of emotion that he feels inside and pray Loki to never leave him again; he wants to let him know how relieved he is to have him back in his arms and in his life; he wants to promise to do better, to be better, to be everything Loki could ever want and more.

But Loki, almost sensing this, kisses him again, shutting him up before he even has the chance to open his mouth and speak. _There will be time to talk_ , he seems to say with his touch alone, _let us enjoy this._

And they do, kissing and mouthing and licking, grabbing and petting and pulling at each other until they are satisfied, their mouths red and swollen and their skin tingling.

They end up with Thor on his back, a hand lazily going through Loki's long hair while he nuzzles Thor's chest every now and then, an arm around his waist, their legs tangled together. It's so similar to their standard post-orgasm state and yet, it's entirely different. When Thor would usually feel sticky with various bodily fluids and utterly spent, ready to nap for a few hours, he now feels only absolute serenity.

It won't last, he knows. The sun is rising more with each passing minute and, soon enough, he will have to go meet his companions and discuss a strategy good enough to achieve a near hopeless goal. Yet, his heart is just a bit less heavy than before, and he allows himself to think that maybe, just maybe, they can do it.

It's such a stark contrast from his mood of the night before, when he thought he had truly lost everything, only to gain back the most important thing.

"How did you do it, this time?" he murmurs, not stopping his reassuring caresses.

Loki, immediately understanding what he is asking, snorts softly and doesn't look up as he replies: "Does it matter?"

And Thor realizes that no, it doesn't matter at all.

It's another minute later, maybe, when it's Loki that breaks the silence: "Thor?"

Thor hums in response, lazy and content enough to not be bothered even the slightest bit by the hesitance he can hear in his brother's voice.

"Do you remember the last thing I said to you, before… Everything?"

The words _never doubt that I love you_ couldn't resonate clearer in his head if Loki had said them a moment before. Those are the words to which he clung desperately during their first fight on the Bifrost and then later, while watching Midgard burn because of Loki, and later still, stepping into the dungeon for the first time since his brother was led there in chains.

"Aye."

Loki stays silent, then, just for a second. He takes a deep breath, steels himself and then finishes: "They were always true. They still are."

Thor could react in several different ways: he could make light of the statement and tease his brother – _is that sentiment, Loki?_ –; he could answer with choked promises of eternal companionship, force them through the knot of pure emotion he can feel in his throat; he could let the moment pass without any answer or he could be simple and straightforward, not letting any misunderstanding pass as to where they stand with each other.

It's really no surprise, then, when he lowers his head to lightly kiss Loki's hair, murmuring: "I love you, brother." It's not an articulate speech but it's completely genuine and he knows it's enough for Loki when he turns a little more towards his chest, trying and failing to hide the big smile appearing on his face that Thor can feel just the same against his skin.

Outside his window, the sun shines bright in the sky, warming their skin.


End file.
